One of the many fascinating things about recovering from open heart surgery is that I am never clear if I am doing too much or doing too little, if I am moving forward or slipping back. There is a lot of advice from a lot of people and so much of it completely contradicts everything else, sometimes within the same sentence. Keep moving. Keep resting. Do more. Do less. Push yourself. Do not push yourself. The heart is a muscle, work it. The heart is fragile, protect it. Do not lift your arms, open a door, pick up a book. Keep moving, nothing heals more than moving.

I went out shopping today and one of the store clerks began telling the awful story of his father whose open heart surgery crippled and killed him. Halfway through, he looked at me and belatedly wondered if I wanted to hear the story. No, I said, I really didn’t. Oh, he said, disappointed. I have heard enough stories about Dad and Uncle Harry to last through a hundred surgeries.

At the farm stand, I reached down to pick up a tray of blueberries, the woman at the register gently put her arm on mine and said, “I’m sorry but you can’t do that. I read your blog. Wait for your wife.”  She was right, I couldn’t do it. I thanked her, it was a sweet thing she did.

The truth is, all of the advice is good, all of it is correct. You have to keep moving, pushing yourself every day, you have to be careful. I am learning to listen to my heart, we are on good terms now, we speak often and are connected to one another in new and powerful ways. Right now, my heart is tired and sore, might dip into my dwindling cache of painkillers tonight in order to sleep. I am in transition, moving from one phase to another, not quite sure where I am, or even who I am right now.

I set out on a big walk, down my road, up a winding hill, back again. I walked 4.5 miles today, took 9,416 steps. My legs ache, I am almost too tired to stand up, but not to write I see, life is miraculous sometimes. Lenore and I ended up in a big and beautiful cemetery near Cambridge, it is a great place for me to walk, dogs are welcome if the owners clean up, and we do. Maria came with me for part of the walk, she brought Lenore. The poor dogs have had little walking the past few weeks, we are trying to bring them when we can.

It was an important hike for me, I needed to know I could do it, my heart says I need to rest a lot, and not to do it again for awhile. My next good hike will be on a trail in Merck Forest in Rupert, Vt. this weekend, I’m ready, or so I think. I lifted a few things I should not have lifted – I just forget, I cooked dinner for Maria. Our friend Kim baked a roast chicken and brought some fresh zucchini, I surprised Maria by having the meal ready while she worked in her studio, she is getting back into her work, I was so glad to make a meal for her again.

Tomorrow my daughter Emma is coming for a few days to help out, it will be good to see her and have her here. She is a city girl, not a lover of the country. Donkeys simply puzzle her, maybe Simon will work his charm on her this trip. I hope Maria will get some rest, get back into her wonderful work.

I am finally wrestling my diabetes back under control, since the surgery and the changes to my blood and system, it has been running riot. I am on it and closing in.

I am learning that every single thing I do makes me tired, and that is normal and appropriate. I am learning to accept peace and rest, and yet find a gentle way to challenge myself every day and move forward. Just because I can do something, doesn’t mean that I should. I want to drive again, I want to be strong enough to hold my camera. Sometimes, if I move the wrong way or do too much, the pain brings me up quite short, gets my attention in the most elemental way, focuses me.

I have never known such fatigue, not even when I couldn’t walk up a gentle hill. I simple fall into a black hole and stay there, I could not lift a napkin sometimes. But never on the road, moving and walking is my think, my heart and soul love it. I see my arms are swinging, I walk at a good clip, I breathe evenly walking is a joy, a pleasure again.

But I have to let my heart recover from being stopped and opened up. I like to think that two weeks is enough, I know that is not so. More like three to six months, if things go well. Hard for me to get my head around it. So that’s where I am, in between one place and another. I am happy about my walk, I loved it, had no shortness of breath or pain of any kind, and I am so happy to be loving walking again.

Life is wonderful, life is mysterious. Crisis and mystery around every corner. Healing is not one thing but many, not a straight line, but many lines, not logical or rational, it has a plan of it’s own. I am an increasingly humble servant.